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| Zara Thustrasia |
When I was much younger than I am now (a child in fact), I subscribed to the notion of 'best' friends. There's an irony in the concept of course, because a best friend isn't someone who is necessarily 'better' than other friends, but is instead merely one whom we like more than the rest. Over the years, I'm sure I've been a better friend to some people than those they'd regard as their 'best' pal, but I'm never going to be eligible for the position. (Not that I'd want or even try to be.)
So I long ago abandoned the idea of best friends - as far as people go. However, anyone who has ever had a dog will know that the only species on the planet fit to qualify for such an accolade is the canine one. Dogs are always genuinely glad to see us, never bear a grudge for however many times we've scolded them over some doggy-misdemeanour, and their chief delight in life is to lie at our feet or by our side and simply bask in the pleasure of our company.
My dog passed on to the great 'Kennel Club in the sky' almost twenty years ago. ZARA was her name; a black and gold German Shepherd of the most placid temperament imaginable. She lived for twelve years, seven months, and I still remember the sound of her, near the end of her days, trying to drag herself up the stairs to my room simply to be with me. (When I heard her, I'd go downstairs and carry her up.)
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| What a poseur |
She had cauda equina, a condition which 'fused' the nerves in her spine together, making it difficult for her to walk. I'd noticed it was getting worse and mentioned it to the vet when Zara was getting her annual booster jags. "She'll be fine for years yet!" he'd said. Seven or so days later, she could hardly walk, so I took her back and the first thing he said on sight of her was: "That dog should be put to sleep!" I reminded him that only a week before, he'd said she was in fine form. "A lot can change in a week!" he muttered. X-rays revealed that she'd also developed internal tumours, for which nothing could be done.
I explained that, as long as she wasn't in any pain, putting her to sleep wasn't an option I was prepared to consider at that time. He gave her a course of tablets, but said that they'd only be of short-term benefit. A fortnight later, for the first time, she had difficulty breathing. It was the night of November 25th, 1998 and I'd hoped Zara might see one more Christmas at the very least. I fetched the Christmas tree down from the attic and put it up in the living-room, switching on the tree lights so that she could watch them twinkling in the gloom.
When morning came, I rang the vet and then carried Zara up to my room, and placed her on my bed to make her as comfortable as possible. When the vet arrived, Zara lifted her head to look at him - then looked at me, licked my hand, and laid down her head with a sigh - almost of relief. After examining her, the vet confirmed it'd be better to put her to sleep. Still clinging to some forlorn hope, I said that if there were any other options, regardless of expense, I'd prefer to explore them first. He shook his head sadly. "No, it's time" he said.
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| Zara as a pup |
I signed for the lethal injection, which the vet then went out to his car to fetch. When he returned, he said: "Her circulatory system is 'down', so I'll have to inject it straight into her heart. It isn't going to be pleasant - you might want to leave the room." I was holding Zara's paw and stroking her head, determined to be with her to the end. It was the least I could do - she'd always been there for me. "I'll stay" I said.
The vet administered the injection, stood back and watched. After a while, he said: "I'm sorry, this has never happened before - she won't die." Consumed with guilt, I protested that if she could survive a lethal injection, maybe something could've been done for her after all. "No, she's got a strong heart, but she needs more than that to survive" he replied. Finally, he'd no choice but to fetch another injection to administer. Zara eventually breathed her last, to the sounds of 'Walking In The Air' from a wind-up Snowman doing its slow, circular dance close by.
I then had to help the vet put Zara in a bag and carry her out to his car. I'd arranged with him to have her privately cremated in a place called 'Elysium Fields', but it couldn't be done until after the weekend. On the appointed day, a friend, who was a minister, ran me through, and Zara was laid out on display before me. She looked like she was sleeping, but she was frozen solid. I stroked her fur for one last time, before my friend said a few words and read a poem over her, and she was then taken off to be 'attended' to.
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| Having fun in the back garden |
I didn't know that the process would take two hours, so we sat in a cafe until it was time to collect her ashes. I was struck by how long they retained their warmth - as if, in some strange way, life itself yet lingered. Four years later, I finally scattered them in the back garden, where her spirit probably runs around snapping at wasps to this day.
I probably shouldn't divulge this, but on the day I scattered her ashes, I first looped her lead through the handle of the bag that the box was in, and took her for one last walk around the places she'd known and loved when she was alive. I don't know whether anyone noticed me taking a carrier bag on a lead for a stroll - I'd have got some strange looks if they had, but it was something I felt compelled to do. If you've ever had a dog, you'll understand; if not, you'll think I'm completely bonkers. (Not that I was dragging the bag behind me - it was by my side.)
Two best friends - in one last walk together. What could be more fitting?
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ZARA THUSTRASIA ROBSON
May 3rd, 1986 - November 26th, 1998
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"Well! I've seen men go to courageous death
In the air, on sea, on land!
But only a dog would spend his breath
In a kiss for his murderer's hand.
And if there's no heaven for love like that,
For such four-legged fealty - well!
If I have any choice, I tell you flat,
I'll take my chance in hell."
From "Rags" - by Edmund Vance Cooke.
9 comments:
Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.
- Agnes Sligh Turnbull
Kid, I was very much touched by the story. The loss of a pet, the loss of a companion is a loss of family.
My first cat Sandy was a stray that adopted me when she was 11 weeks old. I remember the first night she spent in my house. She stood at the side of my bed staring at me. I picked her up and put her on the upper left-hand side of the bed. And she slept there, in that same spot for 17 years.
When she got very sick, her kidneys were failing, She spent most of her time, day and night, under the bed. At first, I loved her too much to ever think of putting her to sleep. But at the end she was suffering so much I loved her too much not to. I made arrangements for the vet to come over the very next Friday and do the deed.
The day before the event was scheduled, Sandy jumped on the bed and stretched out in that same corner that she had slept in for 17 years. As I petted her she purred loudly until she crossed the rainbow bridge while still in my arms.
The one thing I have done is named all the cats I have had since after her.
And Agnes was right, TC - though that 'fault' isn't their fault (if you see what I mean).
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That's a touching story, BP, and one that you should tell on your blog. I like cats as well, and a neighbours black cat called 'Lucky' (the cat, not the neighbour) used to sometimes live with me for days on end, and her and Zara would sleep together at the foot of my bed. When I took Zara walkies, Lucky would follow us all round the neighbourhood and back again. She was a great cat - and Zara was a great dog. Both now sadly deceased. Thanks for the comment - you too, TC.
That's absolutely heartbreaking. My cat Patton who I had for 16 years died last year and I think about that guy every single day.
I still wake up some mornings, TD, and wonder where Zara is - then I remember. So I know what you mean.
A very poignant story, Kid,
A few years ago I got a phonecall which was a wrong number - the woman at the other end thought I was the vet and she wanted to know if the vet charged less for people on benefits. I doubt it!
Vets, eh? It's a license to print money, but we need them. I feel sorry for older people on their own whose only companions are their pets - it must seem even more terrible than usual when the pet dies or has to be put down.
We had two cats for years, brother and sister from the same litter but so different in temperament, the female died of a kidney ailment at 10 but her much more laid back brother went on to reach the ripe old age of 18! We are currently in dog mode now - our first dog (since the cats - though there was a slight overlap where we had our old cat and young dog for about six months) lived to nine years before he succumbed to a heart condition that we knew he had when we got him. Our current dog is coming up to nine years himself but is still very active so fingers crossed that he makes it well into double figures. And that's the thing - you know that their lives are short compared to ours so make the most of it. If he wants to jump up onto my lap while I'm in the middle of something at the computer I'll let him, 'cause I know there will come I time that I'd regret it when he's no longer there the 'bother' me. No doubt about it they really get under your skin like few people do!
I miss having a dog, PC, but I don't think I'd get another one as the time races past far too quickly now. Although Zara lived a year longer than her predecessor, her time seemed only half as long by comparison, so the space between saying hello to a new dog and saying goodbye would seem like no time at all to me these days. I'll have to content myself with living with my memories.
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